


Art and Photography

by Edensmeden



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Cancer, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It, John/Abigail also, M/M, Multi, Partly inspired by Big Eden, Reader is a museum worker :), Slow Burn, and Mary-Beth/Karen bc i think theyre cute, and hallmark chirstmas movies, does it count? Who knows, gender neutral reader, it says major character death but they come right back so its FINE, it skips back and forth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-10 04:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edensmeden/pseuds/Edensmeden
Summary: Its 20xx, and you're heading home to New Hanover, Bessie's memorial service is in two days, and for the next 7 months you're the lucky guy to ferry Hosea to and from doctor's appointments. Only problem is you're starting to remember things. Thing's you're not sure why you remember them.It's 1899 and you're watching your family fall apart. You're a conman's protege, an outlaw, and you're scared.The only constant is Arthur, rancher or enforcer, and he keeps coughing.





	1. Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is like the first fic I've posted in Years so like. Hm. We'll see how this turns out.

“Arthur?” you called out into the night, the cool mountain air biting at your cheeks.

You heard a groan and you ran faster. Your foot slipped on a rock and with it you dropped. Your knee was bleeding but it didn’t matter. You got right back up and kept running.

“Arthur!” you called out again.

A raspy cough was your only answer.

Banking over the rise you saw a lump at the edge of the cliff. Your heart dropped.

There he was, looking beat up and worse then hell but at least you had found him.

You pushed your battered legs over to him, hands rushing to his face once you got there. He was so pale, too pale, and his face was clammy.

His breathing was labored when his eyes opened to meet yours.

“Hey-” he brought in a rattling breath, “Hey darling.”

Your eyes watered as you gave him a small smile and moved him into your lap, “Oh Arthur...”

He turned his head into your stomach and on instinct you carted your hand through his hair. For a moment you could almost pretend you were back in camp, in Arthur’s tent helping him calm down from a job. Not on some sorry excuse for a mountain in the middle of Roanoke Ridge, rocks cutting into your knees and the love of your life on death’s doorstep.

Just that thought left you gasping for air.

No. You would not lose him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the fabric your shirt.

Your grip tightened on it’s place on Arthur’s shoulder, “You don’t have anything to be sorry about Arthur.”

You held him closer.

He coughed.

The sky was grey.

“I’m sorry I-” coughs racked his body, so hard you could barely keep him in your lap, “I’m sorry I’m leaving you, D-Darlin’.”

“You ain't leaving me, Arthur,” your watery eyes met his. He looked so, so sad.

Each of his breaths came shorter than the last one.

“Sorry I could, couldn’t give you the life you wanted.”

You leaned down and brought trembling lips to his forehead. “All I ever wanted was you,” you sobbed.

He hummed and looked out over the slowly lightening sky.

You couldn’t look away from him.

“I love you,” he rasped out.

“I love you too, Arthur.”

“Arthur?”

You’re stomach lurched.

“Arthur?”

“Oh god, Arthur!”


	2. Country Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flight to New Hanover, Tomorrow--8 am.

You woke up to the sound of...traffic-- the vestiges of your dream slipped past you-- and you sighed. You felt. Sad. You didn’t know why.  
Traffic honked again and you looked at your clock and-- eugh-- even at 5 am the city never slept. Apparently. Another horn honked. Really who was even awake and driving this early?

HONK.

You sighed.

Your phone alarm went off.

Oh.

Right.

You’re suppose to be up this early.

A day in the life.

Jesus Christ the sun wasn’t even up yet.

HONK.

DING. DING. DINGDINGDINGDING-

“For the love of god wheres my phone-”

AHA.

_Flight to New Hanover, Tomorrow--8 am_. Blinked up at at you. Huh. That’s right. You’re going home. 

HONK.

....Probably for the best.

HONK.

Getting up out of bed was a chore (and you Might’ve fallen out of it, but no one was around to see so no of course you didn’t). Once you (finally) flickered the lights on you realized you were, truly, lucky to not have broken your neck on the way over. Last night you was, to say the least, and idiot. Well. That’s not fair to last night you. Not really. It was Past you’s fault for not packing until two days before the movers got there, leaving last night you to hurriedly shove things in boxes. Said boxes currently littering your studio apartment’s floor. Of which you’re thanking your lucky stars for not tripping on this fine morning.

Jesus you were tired.

On the kitchen table the invitation to Bessie’s memorial looked at you. You looked away, took a deep grounding breath, got dressed, and headed out the door into the cool morning air in search of one good cup of coffee in this god forsaken city.

The city was cold and heavy with early morning dew, the sky was grey with the promise of a sunny day. You’d lived here for 5 years and still couldn’t make sense of the sprawling lines and streets of it. You eventually did find your favorite coffee house.

It was while you were in line for coffee, surrounded by other zombie like workers (who all agreed they were up Way to early), when you got a call. The angry ringing grated on your ears. The zombies glared.

Of course he’s up this early.

“Hey-”

“Good morning sweetheart, it’s Hosea!”

Despite how tired you were you couldn’t help but laugh a little at how awake he sounded--and he was an hour ahead of you, “I-I know I have caller ID-”

You heard a scoff over the line, “How is my favorite kid this morning?”

“I’m your only kid Hosea, and even that’s suspect-” an ahem from him and more glares from the tired zombies, “I’m fine Hosea, a little tired I admit but fine. How are you? The nurses treating you okay?”

He laughed and out came a small cough, “I hear they’re drawing sticks on who’ll check up on me”

You grinned, “Oh should I be asking about how you’re treating the nurses then?”

Another laugh, “I am ashamed you’d think that of me! I am a perfect gentleman!”

“I’m sure you are,” the line had finally brought you to the front and you pulled the phone away just long enough to order and hand over the money.

“John picking you up from the airport tomorrow?” he asked once he was sure you weren't talking to the cashier anymore.

“Unfortunately.”

“Now play nice he’s gotten better since you left,” he scolded you and you felt like a kid again.

You sighed, “I know but still”

“No “but still” you two have gotta spring me from here and you can’t do that arguing the whole time.”

You snorted and grabbed your coffee, “Sure, sure. I’ll be nice. Anyway I gotta go I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright see ya tomorrow, love you”

“Love ya too”

You smiled at your phone and thought, not for the first time, that you were actually grateful to finally be able to go home. You loved your job and everything it dealt with, but it didn’t provide the comforting atmosphere of Bessie’s ranch on a cold winter night, the fire roaring and Hosea reading you a book because the storm had knocked out the satellite and you were to awake to go to bed yet.

You thought about that night when you grew closer to the museum, and it’s imposing walls towered over you.

Working as a museum curator was hectic at the best of times (which sometimes mirrored auction days at the ranch), but when a new exhibit was on its way and you were handed the task of dictating the photography section--all rules and diatribes flew out the window. People had been pulling you this way and that for the past two weeks and would continue to do so. A glass paned calendar greeted you as soon as you walked in

_Coming Soon: Art and Photography in America of the late 1890s to early 1900s  
Opening November 18th_

That was you. You were photography. It was May, and you’d have to plan it all out from Hosea’s couch.

Amazing.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

From behind the calendar you saw your project supervisor, Kenzie, running straight for you.

“The prints!-”

The prints?

Oh! The prints!

“The prints are in?” you yelled to her as you ran over to meet her, catching a sideways glance from the poor teenager opening up for the day.

Kenzie grinned happily at you when you finally met , “The kid from tech finally dropped them off for you in your mailbox!”

You could jump for joy. Earlier in the month the Mason estate had donated some of the famous photographer’s negatives that one of their kids had found hidden away in the attic of their family home. There’d been some difficulty in getting an image from them because of the unfortunate realities of being kept in a dusty, humid attic for 100+ years but it seems that tech had finally figured it out.

You sprinted to your box, Kenzie hot on your heels.

“Did you look at any of them?” You asked hurriedly.

“No I was waiting for you-” she answered.

You rounded the corner and your box stood golden, the other early comers lazily looking at their newest memmos.

You almost smacked into the wall upon arrival, but shook of the slight shock of that and scrambled through the box--one beautiful puffy envelope stood out against the rest and you almost squealed.

“Come on come on-” you...briskly walked over to your little cubicle and ripped open the package. There they were. 50 completely new photographs of the great Albert Mason. Completely unseen from human eyes until now. Well. Save from the tech guys but the point stands. New. 120 year old photographs.

You’d always felt a draw to Mason’s photographs, so much so that you based your senior thesis around them--focusing on his early wildlife photography.

These photos looked a lot like they were from that period--the images were a little blurry and looked like he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of picturing the animals yet. Your mind turned with images of where these new photographs should go in along with with the older photos, and in what order, when one caught your eye.

It looked like a simple scenic shot, an eagle flying overhead, but on the side almost out of frame stood a person doubled over in laughter. The figure’s face had been blurred due to movement and time, but you could feel the warmth emanating from the gesture. The photo felt. Familiar. Somehow. You just knew that the person was laughing at a joke someone behind the photographer had said. But it didn’t make any sense--

“Y/N” Kenzie said.

You slammed out of your thoughts.

“You good?” she tried again.

“Y-Yeah just. Look at this-” you showed her the photograph.

Her eyes widened at the picture, “Woah! That’s rare--I thought he didn’t have any assistants this early on?”

“He didn’t,” you answered.

She smiled at the picture, “Then that’s definitely a keeper. Such a candid shot tho, must’ve been someone he trusted. Put it in the display stack.”

You reluctantly put down the photograph, your hand somehow feeling colder once letting go.

“Any whos, as I was saying, why are you leaving tomorrow? I remember you told Janice why but I didn’t catch it,” she looked at you expectantly.

“Oh um,” you coughed and cleared your head of the photograph and the feelings attached to it, “It’s my ....mom’s memorial service in a couple of days and my sorta dad just had a bad accident and needs someone up there to take care of him and shuttle him to appointments, yaknow? He lives kinda outta the way so...”

“Sorta dad?” she questioned.

You sighed, you’d probably explained this half a million times in all your years of life, “He and his wife took me in after my parents kicked it, so sorta dad--he’s just Hosea to me, weird father figure.”

Kenzie looked a little worried at that, “And you’re sure you can get all this planned out on top of dealing with all that?”

You pushed her arm a little, “Psh of course I can, I got this.”

Reassured she smiled, “Alright then, hed home early today and finish packing, when are the movers coming tomorrow?”

You groaned, “Eugh at 6, it’s weird having all my stuff being put into storage. But thanks for the early off.”

“Yeah of course, make sure to tell your “sorta dad” I said hi.”

And you continued until 2 when Kenzie gave you the all clear to get home and “finish packing goddamnit you’ll work yourself raw this way”.

You really were thankful to her, she’d landed you the manager position in photography because she knew how much you loved it, and had okayed you’re work-from-home project needs.

The apartment was still when you finally stepped back into it, dust reflected the light from the windows and the entire room was barren save the few pieces of furniture you were leaving for the future renter of the place until you came back. Boxes are haphazardly thrown everywhere and you sighed thinking about how many piles you’d had to make of them. Laying your takeout on the counter, you got to work.

Hauling boxes reminded you of getting hay for the animals on Bessie’s ranch and also something much...older?... that you couldn’t put your finger on. Moving food bags in camp? Hm, must’ve been from one of the many, many, many camping trips Hosea would take you on.  
Eventually you just had to stop, falling on the couch in your day clothes, takeout still on the counter, and drifting off to sleep.


	3. Here You Come Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting, 2 reunions.

“Arthur come meet our new member!” Hosea called out, an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

You were very overwhelmed, there were too many people around and you were still all to new at being on your own. You trusted Hosea but only enough.

You heard a quiet groan then you saw him.

A young man, tall and broad, walked over to you, although he looked like he wished he wasn’t there.

"Hi,” he said and looked away.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

Hosea moved from beside you and put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “This is Arthur Morgan, now Arthur they’re around your age so I want you to make sure they feel welcome here alright?”

He groaned, “Alright. What’ca named?

You told him.

Someone called Hosea’s name, “Ah that’ll be Dutch. Arthur will you show them around?”

He made an affirmative grunt and Hosea quickly moved to the other side of camp.

You both stood there for a pregnant pause before Arthur decided that enough was enough and started walking around.

Arthur wouldn’t look at you as he showed you around, quickly showing where you’d (probably) be sleeping, where the food was, and his tent. You followed meekly behind him, scared beyond your wits, and didn’t say anything. You felt small, alone, and way to unfamiliar.

Arthur looked back at you, and sighed, “I uh.” he cleared his throat, “I know it can be, uh, overwhelming.”

He looked so painfully awkward that you left your mind to pay attention to him.

“But know that we're here for you,” he rubbed his neck, “and Hosea’s asked me look after you so-”

“Thank you,” you said, he looked slightly taken aback at your voice.

“Alright then,” he directed you to the campfire and sat you down, “You should uh. Get some rest, I’m sure Miss Grimshaw will start workin’ you to death tomorrow.”

You laughed a little at that, and you could’ve sworn Arthur blushed--but it was probably just a trick of the light.

_“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking we’ll be landing in Blackwater National in 10 minutes, please stay remained in your seats. Local time is 11:13 Am and it’s about 65 degrees, thank you for flying Bronte airlines--our hostesses will be coming along shortly....” _

You blinked awake, the sun greeted your tired eyes through the window and you could see the city of Blackwater, your dream slipping away.

The sight was familiar, the historic ferries chugged along the shoreline (the sight of which has always filled you with anxiety, though you’re still not sure why), and the bustling city moved below you.

Landing jolted you from your thoughts, bringing you to think about home again--how’d everything changed since you last came back? Was the ranch okay?  
Your horse? You had to admit with the ramping up of the exhibit, you hadn’t had much time to ask Hosea or John (eugh) about how things had been going.

Despite this, the escape from the gate into the airport was a happy one, even in such a sterile environment as an airport there were bits of home and while you were still a bit away from Valentine and New Hanover, the air smelled the same.

Coming down the escalator, carry on beside you, was just as great as coming out of the tunnel--and it was all thanks to one tiny voice yelling your name. “Chase! Chase!” Jack Marston was practically jumping around while he watched you descend. You couldn’t help but laugh at the crumpled “welcome home” sign in his little hands.

The second you were down you ran, grabbed him underneath his arm pits, and spun him around in the air, giggling the whole time. “How is my favorite nephew doing?” you asked him once you stopped spinning.

“Great now that you’re here!” He giggled to you and you perched him on your hip.

With the excitement of seeing Jack again over--you got to see just who had brought the little tyke, and your heart gave a painful clench at the sight. “Arthur,” you breathed out.

“Hey there,” he said.

Arthur stood there, hands in his pockets-- looking absolutely nervous around the crowds. You hadn’t seen him in 3 years and, besides a new scar on his forehead, he hadn’t changed a bit. Well. Maybe he was a bit more sun kissed now.

You brought him into an easy side hug, Jack on your other arm.

“Where’d you been?” You asked when you released him, an easy smile on your face. Quick smothering down any feelings you thought best not be named.

He shifted uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Oh ya know, around. Came back last year to manage the ranch.”

You smiled at him and readjusted your grip on Jack, “Why didn’t you tell me I would’ve come down for Christmas-- wait hold on I need to grab my checked bags comeon,” you started for the conveyor belt, Arthur trailing along behind you, “Anyway. I would’ve come down if you’d told me you were back.”

He chuckled a little bit at that, “It was kind of hit or miss that time o’ year and I didn’t wanna bother you.”

You looked at him worriedly-- what did that mean? But not wanting to pry you just said; “Alright then.”

While you waited for your bags, Jack played with your shirt and asked you about the latest at your museum, to which you gladly explained the intricacies of wild west heroes to him, when the buzzer went off and the conveyor belt started moving. A thought popped into your head, “Hey, wait where is John wasn’t he supposed to get me today?” you asked while you scanned the bags popping out.

“Had a problem up at Ranch, asked me to get you and the old man,” Arthur said, “Jack insisted on coming along.”

“Da’ said a cow was havin’ a baby” Jack said, hand tight in your shirt.

You laughed a little, “Oop yep that’ll, that’ll count as an emergency alright,” you readjusting him again, “Gosh you’re getting heavy how old are you again?”

“Chase!” he complained.

You laughed again.

“Six?”

“No!”

“Oh it’s got to be ten then!”

“No I’m four!”

You ruffled his hair with your free hand, “Oh, of course, how could I be so forgetful?”

He cracked up.

Good to know he was still so easy to entertain.

Ah! Your bag!

You made a move to go for it but before you barely made an inch Arthur had already made it halfway there, grabbing your bag before you could tell him you had it.

Huh.

“Um, Thank you,” you said when he got back to you.

“Was nothin, come on,” he said, making for the parking lot.

You stood in shock for a second, then moved to follow him. Once your motley group had made it to the space you felt a wide smile stretch across your mouth, the sight of the old blue truck felt like balm on your heart. The faded “Horseshoe Outlook Ranch” logo stamped on its front doors felt like home, and it got you to wondering why you always left for so long

Jack’s car seat was set up in the back and you worked him into it while Arthur set up your bags in the back. Jack was fussy, not wanting to get go of you (“but I haven't seen you in sooo long Chase I wanna spend time with you,” “you still are sweetie,”) but he eventually got all strapped in. Which left you to go deflate in the passenger's seat.

Arthur stepped into the driver’s seat and sighed.

“So, Hosea in the new hospital?” you asked, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. You hadn’t talked with Arthur alone since the day you left for college.

“Yep.”

The car rumbled to life and backed out of the space, Arthur’s hands were tight on the wheel and stick. You felt tense.

The scenes of the city fell to the sight of the highway, turning from the big buildings to the small towns and ranches that spotted the West Elizabeth landscape.

Jack had decided to either quickly fall asleep or playing quietly with his toys. A look behind you showed the former was true--and he was cutely snoring away. The excitement of the day probably tuckered him out.

“So,” you tried breaking the silence, “Where ya’ been?”

“I uh,” his voice rasped a little, “After Hosea got...” he paused, “ Sick. I took over the ranch, been doin’ it for a little while now.”

A bolt of completely unfounded jealousy went through you, after all you had left to pursue the museum business. But you supposed some small part of you had always assumed taking care of Bessie’s ranch would eventually fall to you. Ah well.

“I mean like. Before that? I heard you had went with Dutch to do some startup in California or something?” you asked.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “It didn’t work out,” he said with a tense voice.

Ah. Touchy subject. Best to stay away.

Hm.

“How’s the ranch doing?

His shoulders relaxed. Good, okay, back to safe subjects. “Doin’ better than ever. Sales are up. Bluebell’s still kicking around.”

“Literally kicking around you mean?”

“Yeap.”

You both devolved into little laughs, it was very easy to laugh around Arthur. Bluebell was your horse, and a mean sonofabitch if a horse ever could be--but you loved him. Maybe he was so angry because you named him Bluebell. Food for thought.

From there the conversation devolved into Arthur complaining about how hard it was to get Bluebell exercised, the state of the ranch’s financial affairs, and Hosea’s condition.

“He was doin’ alright until a few days ago when he just wouldn’t stop coughing, then the doctors said he needed more care and appointments, or be admitted permanently which Hosea outright refused to-”

“Which is where I come in,” you said.

“Which is where you come in,” he finished.

You grew somber, “...Do you think he’ll pull through?”

Arthur sighed, “The doctors say they caught it in time, plus Hosea’s strong--he’ll outlive us all.”

You smiled at that, the line giving you back the sense of deja vu that's been plaguing you the past couple of weeks. “Probably I’m just, worried.”

Another sigh, but much less heavy, “Yeah. Me too,”

The plains of West Elizabeth turned to the rolling greens of New Hanover and your heart leap into your throat, it had been too long since you’d last been here-- a sudden sense of nostalgia overtook you. You thought about all the times you’d messed around the state and Bessie’s ranch when you were younger, and smiled at the visions around you.

Quickly you were back to where this all started-- Valentine. The main street still had it’s “look were a homesteading town from the 1800s” vibe to it as you pulled onto it, heading down to the “new” hospital. Everyone said the “new” hospital despite it being 6 years old now, the only account of it being “new” in the sense that it’s younger than the clinic.

You pulled up to it and looked at the imposing “non-emergency care” sign.

Once the car cut from it’s usual rumble Jack woke up from his impromptu nap.

“We gonna see uncle Hosea?” he mumbled sleepily when you got him out of the car seat.

“Sure are kid,” you replied with a small smile, “we’re gonna jailbreak him.” He laughed at that.

“Can I walk in?” he asked.

You faked thinking, “Hm. You can But you gotta hold my hand the entire time alright?”

He nodded, “Okay!”

“Alright,” you lifted him out of the car and onto the ground, gripping his hand.

When you looked up Arthur was looking at the two of you with an unreadable expression on his face, and you raised your brow at him. He only coughed and looked away.

The cough sent a pang through your chest, though you weren't altogether sure why. Maybe you were just projecting your worry about Hosea onto Arthur. Yeah. That must be it.

The hospital was cold and smelled of antiseptic, as all hospitals do, and you felt Jack grip your hand a little tighter. You squeezed back.

The halls twisted and turned every which way, but Arthur confidently made his way through--leading you and Jack through it all. He barely left you enough time to read the signs so you’d know where you were next time you came around.

“Mr. Morgan, good to see you back again,” the nurse at the front desk of the cancer ward said as you grew closer, her hair was piled high on her head and make up caked her face, “your uncle has been a real pain in my ass.”

Arthur laughed, “well arn’t you glad we're here to pick him up then, Miss Grimshaw?”

She hmphed, “I’ll tell him your here.” When she got up, her eyes slid over you with a sense of familiarity, “Good to see you again,” she said when she passed you and Jack.

You blanched. You don’t remember ever meeting her before. At least. You don’t think you did. Weird. Maybe she was actually talking to Jack?

“She’s the head nurse,” Arthur whispered down to you, “You’ll see her a lot. She's a mean old witch, or so I hear.”

You and Jack laughed at that, Arthur grinned, folding his arms.

In no time at all Miss Grimshaw came out, rolling a wheelchair bound Hosea out with her.

“I can walk goddamnit woman-” you could hear him complaining down the hall.

You resisted the urge to cover Jack’s ears.

“There’s children present, Old Man!” Arthur called to him.

He stopped and you sighed in relief in your mind.

He was wearing jeans and a smart vest--he’d always keep up appearances even if he was in the hospital. You saw how wide he was grinning as he got closer and you couldn’t help but let a smile grow on your face.

When he finally arrived he hopped up out of the wheelchair and brought you into a big embrace, much to Miss Grimshaw’s chagrin. You smiled into his shoulder, a few tears springing to your eyes, he was warm and fatherly, it hit you just how close you were to losing him.

When he pulled back he saw how misty your eye’s were, “What’s wrong, hun?” he asked, wiping a tear from your cheek. You felt like a little kid again, fresh from your parent’s deaths.

You smiled, “Oh nothing nothing just happy to see you again.”

“Uncle Hosea, Uncle Hosea!” Jack called from your side.

“Jack, my boy,” Hosea leaned down and picked him up, “how are you?”

While Jack devolved into stories about preschool, Miss Grimshaw hmmed you and Arthur over.

You stood side by side, Miss Grimshaw’s piercing stare demanded complete obedience. “You need to pick up these prescriptions,” she handed you a piece of paper, “and you need to be back here at 12:30 sharp next week. I don’t stand for tardies.”

“Yes ma’am,” you said.

She turned her serpent’s glare to Arthur, “And buy him some warmer clothes. It’ll get too cold in here for him.”

“Yes ma’am,” you both answered.

“Alright well you’re all ready to go Mr. Matthews,” she finally said, looking past both of you.

“It was very nice to visit you Miss Grimshaw,” Hosea said.

“Yeah yeah, see you next week,” she said as she all but shooed you out the doors.

On the way to the car you told Hosea about the new photographs you’d recovered and how the new exhibit was faring, to which he seemed very intrigued about. Your whole college career you’d told him about Albert Mason so maybe he was drawing back on those conversations.

Finally back in the car, you let your excitement grow at the prospect of returning home proper. When you finally passed by the railway museum on the way out of town, it really sunk in that this time you were pretty much home for good. You were happy, even with Hosea’s illness looming over you, and you let yourself fall back into the familiar pattern of home.


End file.
